


Rafe Owie

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, b/d, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafe gets into some trouble when he goes out to run an errand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rafe Owie

## Rafe Owie

by Rafes Panda

The pretty boy(s) aren't mine, darnit.

LOCs welcome!!

Warning: Rafe gets beaten and raped. Don't read if it's not your cup o' tea. 

This story is a sequel to: none 

* * *

Just A Rafe Owie  
By Panda 

Rafe coughed again, the vibrations abusing his already chaffed throat, sending tears to his eyes from the pain. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, blinking through the fog of breath rising in front of his face. "Shit. I really hate this," he grumbled, sniffling and walking a bit faster. Although he lived in one of the better neighborhoods, Rafe didn't feel a whole lot safer walking the streets in the middle of the night. 

His car was in the shop, and he didn't have the cash to call a cab. Of course he'd be stuck with a few ones and a credit card when he'd trade it for a twenty. He took a deep breath into his congested lungs and kept his bleary eyes darting into the shadows. A chill ran up his spine, and he nearly lept off the sidewalk when a cat darted from an alley. 

"Christ! Get a grip, Rafe!" he whispered to himself. He could see the convenience store sign glowing brightly on the street corner ahead, and quickened his pace, fingers digging nervously into the wad of ones he had in his pocket. 

The sound of the bell chiming above the door seemed more welcome to Rafe than it should have. He sighed in the warmth of the store's interior and headed straight for the medicine shelves in the back. Within a few minutes, he'd picked up his few small items and paid for them and was headed back home. The three-quarter mile walk never seemed so long. Despite the cold, his palms were sweaty and the twisted top of the paper sack in his fist was damp. He turned the last corner, and kept his eyes on his own front step as he walked briskly, another coughing fit almost doubling him over. 

As he was stopped beside an electrical post recovering, he heard footsteps approach from behind. Just as he was about to turn, a fist smashed accross his face, sending stars exploding behind his eyes. The paper sack dropped from his hand, a bottle of NyQuill and a package of tea bags spilling out, unnoticed. Rafe was dragged, barely conscious, into the dark alley nearby. 

By the time he could register in his fever-fogged mind what was happening, his pants had been yanked down to his knees and arms twisted and held painfully behind him. He cringed as he heard the muffled voices of more than two thugs crooning and speaking vulgarities to him. He felt his sidearm being yanked from it's holster under his jacket and he closed his eyes tighter, praying that they shoot him first. Cold hands fumbled and fondled at his genitals, while another set of hands pried his ass cheeks apart roughly. Rafe let out a small cry of protest, but knowing it would do no good, remained quiet otherwise, not wanting to give them the pleasure of hearing his pain. 

He took a deep breath through his teeth when he felt the head of a large cock press at his entrance. He dug his fingers into the lid of the dumpster he was pressed against, praying for a miracle. The sudden thrust into his dry passage made him choke, but he stubbornly refused to cry out. As the pain set in, he felt tears fall unwillingly down his face. The thrusts continued, harder, lubricated by his own blood. His heartbeat rushed in his ears, drowning out the groans and grunts of the other men. When the huge cock inside him brushed over his prostate, Rafe was mortified to feel a rush of pleasure surge through him, followed by a muffled hoot from the gang members. He felt hands roughly stroking his cock, sending small bolts of pleasure through him, and he trembled, feeling sick with guilt and humiliation. 

His fever raged through his body, leaving him weak but still his blood surged to his shaft, filling it. He felt a hot burst of semen inside of him and the man pulled out quickly. Just as quickly, another thrust into him, this one not as large, but still painful. Rafe felt rather than heard a groan escape his own lips, and a few more catcalls. He felt his mind swirling, his head spinning with dizziness as his orgasm rushed over him. He bit into his cheek hard, breaking the skin and praying to all gods that they wouldn't see that he was coming hard. The spasms in his ass milked the cock inside him, and when that man pulled out, Rafe slumped to the cold cement ground, consciousness slipping again. 

He heard voices, but not the words. He heard a muffled click after several moments, then the roar of a gunshot. The impact hit him full in the stomach, the pain rushing at him from all sides. He heard another thunderous crack, and immediately felt a pressure in his chest, and a deep wet warmth blossoming over him from the pressure point. 

Rafe heard thudding footsteps hurrying away then, and he dared to crack open his eyes. Darkness surrounded him, only the faint light from a street lamp at the entrance of the alley glowed partially onto him. He stared into the yellowish light, hoping it was the light that was there to take him away from the pain and torment. He felt his breathing grow more painful, and it was that pain that cleared the fog in his mind and turned it into agonizing sharpness. 

Pushing himself to his side, Rafe retched a few times, crying out at the pain, blood dripping from his lips. He fished in pocket weakly, praying they hadn't decided to search every one, and blessedly found his small cell phone. Prying it open, he hit the first speed-dial he had, his vision dimming fast. After three rings, a breathless, grumpy voice answered. 

"jim?" Rafe rasped, feeling his heart stutter with fatigue. He felt a brief moment of guilt at waking his friend, but the panic he heard in the other man's voice washed it away. 
    
    
            "Rafe, what is it? Where are you?"
            "jim... I was going... home," Rafe gasped slowly, his eyes closing of their own violation. 
            "Rafe! Stay with me! I'm coming right over, and I'm calling for help. You have to hang in there! Rafe!"
            "j i m..." Rafe let his suddenly too-heavy arm fall to the cold ground, and he relaxed into the darkness. A large 
    

pool of blood was forming under him, and he could feel it soaking his bare legs. Immediately he felt a wash of shame and forced his arms to move agian, curling up and grasping at the waistband of his slacks. He pulled them up his legs slowly, covering himself. He managed to get his zipper done up before the blood-loss caught up to him and he blacked out completely. 

He didn't hear the frantic voice on the other line, or the sirens in the distance. 

Rafe coughed again, gently, and groaned tightly at the burning it caused in his abdomen. "I guess pneumonia doesn't go away, even with two gunshot wounds," he groused, sipping at the tea. 

Jim came over with a fresh cool cloth for his forhead. "No, I don't suppose it does," he said gently, brushing Rafe's hair back before placing the new cloth over his sweaty skin. "I'm just glad you're still alive, Brian." 

"Me too, man..." Rafe's voice trailed off and he stared into his cup. He knew that Jim knew what had really happened before the shooting. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it. He also knew Jim wouldn't bring it up unless Rafe was ready to. "You going to catch the game with the other guys tomorrow?" 

"I don't know. I think I have some paperwork I could catch up on," Jim stalled, cringing at his own lame excuse. He noticed the disapproving look Rafe was giving him. "Yeah well, who would make your tea and chicken soup if I wasn't here? You know H loves you, but he's not about to miss out on a game he put a hundred bucks down on. He couldn't love anybody enough for that." 

This time Rafe smiled at Jim's words and nodded, resigned. "Thanks, big guy." 

End 

* * *

End Rafe Owie by Rafes Panda: rafes_panda@yahoo.com

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